


When The Wolf's Away

by Firelight_and_Rain



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Friends With Benefits, M/M, dysfunction junction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 10:10:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13144452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firelight_and_Rain/pseuds/Firelight_and_Rain
Summary: Ocelot just wants Kaz to go the fuck to sleep.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sleepingcoelacanth](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Sleepingcoelacanth).



> I still don't understand Metal Gear, Hideo Kojima or Revolver Ocelot.
> 
> (cw: for this chapter: Kaz's internalized ableism and Ocelot being lowkey a dick about it)
> 
> (now has art from my friend and the person responsible for this fic and my awareness of these characters!!! it's v good: https://twitter.com/Shoyumangos/status/968004315859189760?s=19 )

It was nearly silent on Mother Base. Ocelot figured that this silence wouldn’t last long, at least not in the immediate vicinity of the command room, the door to which he currently stood outside of, listening. Nothing. Too much to hope that Miller had retired of his own volition; Snake couldn’t have been a good friend and tucked him into bed when he was still out on a mission with Quiet. Ocelot tried the handle, toed the door open.

Ocelot strangled a smile when he saw the heap of clothing collapsed at one of the far tables, nearer the command console. Ocelot was admittedly surprised that Miller wasn’t awake when he got close enough to see that he’d, in the process of his collapse, tipped his coffee over his face. A construction of tiny bubbles clustered near Miller’s slack mouth, and the coffee still rhythmically dripped to the ground. His glasses pressed into the left side of his face. Ocelot reached over the table and removed the glasses. He was righting the now empty coffee mug when Miller flailed at him; Ocelot assumed that he was trying to grab his wrist. He made contact, at least. Ocelot stilled out of courtesy and waited for Miller’s brain to catch up to his affront.

“Ocelot. What the fuck are you doing here?”

Ocelot finally moved the mug out of the way, dislodged Miller’s hand gently and started to clean off the captured sunglasses. “Do you know what time it is?”

Miller rolled his eyes up from Ocelot’s hands. “No? Late? Time for you to be haunting the recruits’ nightmares, or whatever it is you do?”

Ocelot smiled thinly. “Hours after your dinner time. Did you intend to sit in that chair until Snake comes back to Mother Base?”

Miller closed his eyes for a couple of long moments, like he was going to go right the hell back to sleep. “Yes.”

“Alright.”

Ocelot was a couple of steps away when Miller sat up. “What - ? Give those back, asshole.”

“What, dinner?”

“My glasses.”

Ocelot pretended to think about it. “No, I don’t think so. Maybe if I let Snake see you like this, you’ll start taking care of yourself.” He smiled with just the tips of his teeth.

“Like he has the time. What, you’re going to district Snake from running the business to babysit me? Give me my damn glasses back.”

Ocelot came back, sat down. “Arm wrestle you for it?”

Miller smirked and planted his elbow on the table. Despite his unforgivably disheveled appearance, even the casual angling of his arm made solid muscle jump up like a cartoon or a propaganda poster. “Sure, Ocelot.”

Ocelot set both the glasses and the dinner down. Miller hadn’t bothered to wipe off his face and there remained a deep crease on the left side of his face from where he’d fallen asleep on his glasses. Ocelot extended his own left hand, but before Miller could flatten it to the table and probably into a coffee splatter, Ocelot lifted his other hand and dug fingers from both hands into Miller’s nerve centers, who hissed and grimaced while Ocelot guided his hand down to the table. He didn’t let it up again, because he wouldn’t put it past Miller to try to deck, or more likely strangle, him. “I win, and the terms of your condition are that you retire for the night, and probably half of the morning. I can hold down the fort that long.”

What Miller did next genuinely surprised Ocelot. Instead of snarling at Ocelot, he relaxed his arm and tilted his head in an attempt to get his hair in his eyes in lieu of his ever-present glasses. “Why do you care so much? We both know that it’s more important for you to be in fighting shape than it is for me.”

Ocelot left his hands where they were. He wasn’t sure why, what he’d gain from it; needless to say he was not in the habit of getting close to people. Only the one. Miller wasn’t in the habit of extending the possibility. He’d been in the habit of it, for everyone, everyone almost including Ocelot back in the MSF days. It wasn’t a real question what had happened to change it.

“Do you really believe that, Miller?”

Miller’s scowl started to return, after that moment of fatalistic, fragile vulnerability. “What do you want? Me to pretend that nothing happened? God, I don’t want your charity.” He drew his arm back. Ocelot didn’t fight for it, but didn’t withdraw his touch until Miller had recovered himself. He wondered if it had been a mistake to cheat, but it wasn’t in Adamska’s nature to surrender the upper ground. It wasn’t that he didn’t, really, want to fight Miller for this. Of course not.

“It’s not charity to expect you at your best for the operation’s sake.”

Miller went for a sarcastic smile but his scowl barely changed. “Maybe my best isn’t - hell, we have a Cipher spy on the base even if you aren’t one and we’re losing our recruits almost as fast as we can turn them. I’d blame you but there’s no point.”

“You say that now. I’m sure you’ll be back to it by tomorrow.”

The silence had a similar texture to a bruise.

“Get out.”

“Without your glasses?”

“Stop playing with your food, Ocelot.”

Ocelot stood up and glared down at Miller, no longer quiet as the truce demanded. “Am I? It wasn’t that hard for you to work with me before this, Kaz.” It had taken him a full second to decide whether it’d be crueler to use the professional or the personal. “Are you really so desperate to prove that Snake doesn’t have to come back for you that you’ll do anything to risk the Diamond Dogs?”

Kazuhira’s glare was becoming increasingly self-directed, but he still tossed the coffee mug at Ocelot’s head. Ocelot only had to shift his weight to dodge it - as Kaz didn’t have anything else at hand to easily assault him with, Ocelot took the time to stare at it as it arced through the air to shatter on the cold concrete floor.

“I’m not leaving until you have something to eat and promise you’ll be taking yourself off to bed right after.”

“If you’ve taken a sudden interest in human resources beyond your own … fun, get me more coffee and fuss after Snake.”

“I already do. And who says this isn’t fun? Don’t give me an excuse to tranquilize you, Miller, I’ll do it.”

Kaz suddenly got a funny look on his face, like he’d prefer that to stumbling on his own to natural unconsciousness and whatever waited for him there. But before Ocelot could offer it in earnest, he schooled himself and said, “I need to clear my head before I’ll even have an appetite. Hand me my damn cane.”

Ocelot handed him the damn cane. Neither of them mentioned the glasses, which were tucked into Ocelot’s front pocket.

*

They made their way together to the decks in silence. It was becoming increasingly evident to Ocelot that not only was Kazuhira lashing out out of personal dislike, which was nothing new, and some combination of pain and fatigue, which was only inevitable, but loneliness, and if he wasn’t likeable in his own eyes then he could be unavoidable.

Kaz might not have been aware of how he was leaning into Ocelot’s space with every movement, but Ocelot was.

They stood at the command platform. Kaz patted at his coat and withdrew a long-handled pipe, which he then stared at in frustration. A little concerned that he’d try to hit him with it, Ocelot said, “I have a lighter.”

“I’ve never seen you smoke.”

Ocelot fished it out of a pocket. “Zippo - an all-American classic.”

“To go with the rest of your juvenile cowboy fetish costume. I’m really not surprised.”

“Gotta respect the classics in these turbulent times, Che.”

Kaz rolled his eyes and tucked the pipe back into his coat.

Ocelot held out his hand. “Here, let me help. It’d be a pity if you couldn’t add pipe smoke to the banquet of aromas you’re cultivating.”

Well, there was no way out of it now that Ocelot’d offered Kaz a way to offend him further. “I hope you have a box of matches somewhere on that cheap museum costume,” he said, popping the pipe into his mouth. “You don’t light a damn kiseru with a Zippo.”

Ocelot stepped up to the rail. There was something he distrusted about the dark water; no mechanics to manipulate, no lasting surface even to memorialize a boot-print or a spray of blood. It was futility, but it was far stronger even than John, and it wouldn’t remember any of them, or any of their works. A light shoulder-check and he lifted Kaz’s own box of matches. “Of course I do. It’s a symbol of the good ol’ pioneering spirit.”

The kiseru bobbed up as Kaz clenched his jaw in aggravation.

The short-lived flame of the match against the bleak nothingness of their pre-dawn perch reminded Adam, strongly, of Kazuhira himself, warm, fierce, ultimately isolated. There was no room for Adam, Adamska, Ocelot in this metaphor. And there wasn’t room for Snake. They were themselves the night creatures that lived in every dark space, that could be expected to blink open their glowing eyes at any moment. Adam knew that Kazuhira knew the first. It only served him and John for him not to know the second. It wasn’t tragic; tragedy, well tragedy was a certain flair for the dramatic. That was all.

Ocelot grabbed the end of the kiseru, gently, and lit the packed tobacco. He could feel the tiniest shifts Kaz made through the polished wood. After the flame caught, Ocelot brought his match close to his mouth - almost inside, like he was going to lick it out - and exhaled, extinguishing it. Kaz turned his back to the water. Under the shadow of his fatigue, he was unmistakably blushing. Ocelot grinned and stuck the extinguished match between his own teeth. They were standing elbow to elbow.

They stood in silence for what felt like a long time.

Ocelot wasn’t sure himself what he was doing there. Kaz had what he needed from him for the night, and there was no more need for ultimatums. He just. Didn’t need to leave.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw in this chapter for: excessive alcohol use, more of Ocelot lowkey being a dick, dubcon second base (see: excessive alcohol use), some discussion of unfun torture (for everyone but Ocelot)

It was the afternoon after a triumphant mission and Kaz had outdone himself with the after-party. The man himself was in a rare good mood, surfing high on the golden courage of many cans of beer and the invisible glow given off by The Man Himself, Snake, caged for the moment by mere mortals’ expectations. Venom was drinking one part for every two of Kazuhira’s, listening to his soldiers, hands on shoulders. He danced by himself to some driving modern tune, eyes on Kaz, who leaned against the bar, tapping his foot, not even sad at the distance. He danced with Quiet, eyes only for her. He gave a speech, arm around Kazuhira’s shoulders, and Quiet appeared in the beams above them, and doused them both with what seemed to be gatorade.

Ocelot spent the evening mostly sober. Out of the limelight. This wasn’t his role.

He was mixing himself a drink, functionally invisible when, to his surprise, and probably counter to Kazuhira’s own plans, the man made one last rally.  


He also saw when Snake saw something - or someone - down the corridor away from the party and stepped away from where Kazuhira had draped himself over his near shoulder, hand about half an inch from descending under the neckline of the man’s shirt. Before Kaz could so much as stumble, Snake had gathered him up in a bear hug; full body contact, yes, but a form with no real subtext, and with Kaz’s arm pinned harmlessly to his side.

Ocelot memorized Kaz’s perfectly affronted face and hid his smile behind his glass.

“It was a good party, Kaz,” Snake said, in his gruff, earnest voice. He set him back on the ground and handed him his cane. “Thank you for doing this for me.”

“Anything for you, Boss,” Kaz said brightly. “You’re looking a bit worse for wear, though. Want to help me off to the showers before we, uh, retire for the night?”

Snake looked unperturbed by the proposition. Granted, he was rarely notably alarmed by enemy fire, either. “Quiet and I have an after-mission briefing.”

They both - and Ocelot - knew that was bullshit, because although Snake often took a personal interest in his troops and no one really minded, the paperwork was handled between Ocelot and Miller.

“Well. Helping provide manpower is my job. Maybe I could … lend a hand?”

Snake’s silence and stillness told Kaz and Ocelot the viability of this plan loud and clear before Quiet materialized behind Snake, climbed onto his back, and pointed deliberately at Kaz before drawing her finger across Snake’s throat.

Snake had the grace to cough nervously as Quiet and Kazuhira locked gazes.

“I have it handled,” Snake said, cupping Quiet’s booted feet where they dug into his sides.

“I’ll bet you do,” Kaz said snidely, frustration turning the implied compliment into some kind of insult.

“See you tomorrow, Kaz.” Snake left, carrying Quiet on his back like some sort of techno-barbarian carrying his feminine conquest away.

Kaz stared after them for a long moment before turning, making his way to the near abandoned makeshift bar, grabbing Ocelot’s drink out of his hand and downing it in one go.

“You’re a goddamn mess, Miller.”

“Shut up, you lonely old fuck.”

Ocelot shrugged and shut up. He mixed Miller another drink, but withheld it when Kaz reached for it. Kaz narrowed his eyes, like he was considering wrestling Ocelot for it, but he was at least cognizant enough to predict how that’d go for him in his state of advanced inebriation.

“You can have this if you agree to clean yourself up before collapsing tonight.”

“Is this gonna be a - thing between us?”

“I’m not going anywhere. As you said to Snake. It’s our job to help.”

Kaz stared hard at Ocelot. He looked like he was going to ask something painfully earnest (and Ocelot unfortunately had a good idea of what it’d be), but before he could he grabbed the drink from Ocelot and drank it with deliberation.

“Not sure if I can manage it without drowning myself in the shower, tonight,” he admitted to his glass when he was finished.

“Let me worry about that.”

The blush was back in force. “This isn’t actually the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever done while drunk.”

“Why, Miller, was that almost a compliment?”

“‘S referring to that little talk with Snake, jackass.”

*

“Where the fuck did my clothes go?”

While Kaz was in the shower, Ocelot had busied himself collecting all the bottles and detritus within the room and building a small tower with them that he fancied resembled the famous towers of Moscow. That, naturally, he’d never been to.

“Did you intend to sleep in them?”

“No. Where the hell did you put them?”

“In the hall.” 

“In the … ? Why?” Kaz was audibly wondering what possible explanation whoever cleaned them up would assume.

Ocelot didn’t deign to answer, instead gathering a clean towel and a clean pair of underwear from Kaz’s bed. He then threw these at Kaz, who of course didn’t catch them, instead staring flatly at Ocelot as they bounced off his face and onto the floor. Ocelot shrugged at him.

“Are you going to help?” Kaz asked after a moment.

Alright then. Ocelot approached to retrieve the towel off the floor and wrapped it around Kaz’s waist for him. Despite their earlier flirting, whatever they would have called it if confronted, Kaz mostly just looked tired, and Ocelot hadn’t put stock in passion since Operation Snake Eater. Kaz pushed off the shower rail he’d been hanging on to and fell onto Ocelot’s shoulder, who only staggered a little bit, before wrapping an arm around the back of his neck. “I’m going to bed now.”

“Am I supposed to carry you?”

“Why not? You’re supposed to be some legendary badass almost equal to Snake.”

“Unlike Snake, my employers haven’t usually bothered with the pretense that I’d have to carry wounded comrades off the battlefield. If it came to that.”

“I’m your employer, asshole.”

“Perks of the job?”

Kaz muttered something unintelligible, resting his chin on Ocelot’s shoulder, and Ocelot managed to sweep him up into a bridal carry with minimal fumbling. It was almost harder to pretend that it wasn’t hard to carry Kaz’s full weight than it was to manage it quickly. It was only a few steps, though, until - Well. Ocelot had figured he was just going to dump him on his cot, but once there he was possessed to set him down gently. Kaz took a moment to let go. He closed his eyes. Ocelot slapped him gently. Kaz opened his eyes and glared at him. Ocelot smiled cheerfully. “You agreed to clean yourself up before going to bed. I’m obliged to hold you to that for company morale.”

“I’m already in bed. I win.”

Ocelot smiled wider and tapped his nose with the flat of a straight razor. Kaz went cross-eyed. “Where the fuck did you get that? You weren’t carrying it with you.”

Ocelot didn’t deign to answer that and sat on the cot next to Kaz, who complacently followed him with his eyes. He’d already set the rest of his supplies on a corner of the cot. “Sit up.”

Kaz did, slowly, and propped himself against the wall. Ocelot made up a lather and applied it to Kaz, who looked like he was drifting off again. Kaz moved into his hands. Despite his proximity to unconsciousness, he blinked upon and glared when Ocelot picked up the razor and moved it close to his face again.

“It’s a bit late to worry if I’m safe,” Ocelot observed.

“I’m not an idiot,” Kaz snapped. “Of course you’re not safe.”

“But you are, for the moment.”

Kaz almost smiled, almost like he was comforted by the reassurance. Not that it was a lie. Here, at least, he wouldn’t be doing any more damage to his liver, or falling off the observation deck, or anything else military-grade ridiculous.

Still, he didn’t drop off again when Ocelot started applying the razor to the lather.

“This something you’ve used in your … department?”

“The razor? Or a razor, I should say. Sometimes. It’s a bit old-fashioned, though, compared to all the new toys your department provides.”

“Somehow I thought you’d like old-fashioned torture. Something about the personal touch.” Ocelot was not entirely sure why Kaz was pursuing this conversation, but he was going to go with the explanation that had something to do with the way his eyes tried to track Ocelot’s hands, his arm draped across Ocelot’s lap (he had the excuse of limited space, but Ocelot still would have expected him to complain) and the flush wish could, granted, by explained by his inebriation. He was going to go with that explanation because he was a damn good gambler, most of the time, in the game with the highest stakes possible, and he knew what he wanted when it came to the small stakes.

“I never said I didn’t. But I’m not paid to have fun.”

“Doesn’t mean you don’t.”

“How much free time do you think I have, Miller?”

“Enough time to try to babysit me. Not that you seem to be getting anything out of it.”

“That remains to be seen.” He would have anyway; it wouldn’t have made any sense to leave Miller to his self-destruction. Ocelot didn’t have a better purpose here. But if Miller was more comfortable making this transactional, sure. On another pass, he pressed just a little too hard on the skin over Kaz’s cheekbone, resulting in a long, thin cut. Kaz tensed up, like he would’ve liked to move back into the wall. But he didn’t say anything, and his hand tightened on Ocelot’s thigh. Ocelot smiled at him again and very deliberately wiped the thin stripe of blood off of the razor. When, a minute later, he was done wiping off Kaz’s face and throat, he pressed the pad of his thumb, rough, into the cut. Kaz didn’t try to move away again. When he took his hand away, Kaz grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him down for a slightly off-center but earnest kiss.

Ocelot didn’t need to be asked twice. He climbed into Kaz’s lap. (He wasn’t worried about the lack of compliment manifest there - the cumulative alcoholic concoction Kaz had spent the evening on could do that). He didn’t put down the razor, carefully held in the hand braced against Kaz’s right shoulder, too close to Kaz’s bare neck had it been anyone else. The other hand made a fist in Kaz’s hair, at the base of his skull, a bit too tight for comfort.

Ocelot was patient enough to let the legendary romeo press their lips together and nip at his lips, contact with just the end of his tongue for a few moments. Then he broke away to put the razor down, and when he came back, he kissed Kaz sweetly while cradling his face and digging his thumb hard into the hinge of his jaw. Kaz gave a slightly choked-sounding exhale and opened his mouth; Ocelot practically purred while doing his level best to stick his tongue down Kaz’s throat.  


Sometime during these proceedings, Kaz moved his hand from kneading Ocelot’s ass back to the small of his back and tried to roll them over. Ocelot took a half second to recover his willpower, stopped grinding on Kaz’s highly admirable, water-freckled abs (Ocelot, after all, hadn’t spent the evening drinking), and, shifting slightly, kept them right where they were. Kaz huffed into Ocelot’s mouth but didn’t seem to mind wrestling him for dominance, even if he’d already lost. 

When Ocelot leaned back and kept a hand planted on Kaz’s sternum, feeling his heartbeat, Kaz raised an eyebrow. “What? Need a moment?”

“Yes. More than a moment. You’re too drunk to take this further tonight.”

“Is that the problem?” Kaz sounded mildly incredulous. “I didn’t know you wanted my dick that much.” He broke into a big, lopsided grin, lips still shiny. “Or is it an ego thing?”

“Hard as it is to believe, I do have some standards. At least when it comes to my friends.”

It wasn’t arguing his point that Kaz was too drunk to react to his use of the word ‘friend’, somehow more presumptuous than pinning Kaz down in his own bed and getting all over second base.

Kaz just blew a raspberry. “Whatever. I want to do you anyway. I can make it fun, even if I am a little drunk.” 

“Stubborn, aren’t we? Leave it, Kaz, before I handcuff you to your damn cot.”

Kaz grinned again. “Is that a promise, Ocelot?”

Ocelot figured threatening to tranquilize him wasn’t going to get the desired compliance, either. “I’m leaving now. Try and get some sleep.”

When Ocelot shuffled off of him, Kaz just dropped his arm over his eyes and groaned in a distinctly self-pitying manner.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> general note - ocelot talks a big game but kaz hasn't got laid in Ever and doesn't really have time for that
> 
> tags for this chapter: second base, bondage, oral sex, manual sex
> 
> cw for this chapter: under-negotiated kink, more discussion of unfun torture (for everyone but Ocelot)

Things were quiet between them for roughly a week. For two days, Kaz was particularly belligerent over any trivial matter that came up, although it did a poor job of hiding how wired he was to Ocelot’s mere presence. Ocelot would bet that Venom picked up on it; he’d given them both appraising looks a couple times, ones for Ocelot that Ocelot suspected were his version of that quaint ‘hurt him, and I’ll break you in two’. He wouldn’t. Either of them - Ocelot or Miller - were too useful on their own merits. Good for everyone, then, that Ocelot was good at what he did, and didn’t only enjoy it.

Another late evening broken up by Ocelot’s charity in the form of his presence, quiet, and a full mug of coffee, and Kaz’s manner melted. It still took him several more days to make another move. Ocelot hadn’t been sure if he should expect one, or expect Kaz to take his pretty, freshly-shaven face and his needs elsewhere.

Or if he really wanted what he’d pushed for.

*

“That was a bit of an overreaction.”

“Thank you for your corraboration,” Ocelot muttered, rubbing at his shoulder. He could feel the bandage under his shirt. “I guess it’s his business if he wants to ground one of his best soldiers for a minor injury.”

“But the Boss gets what the Boss wants.” Despite his sympathy, Kaz sounded amused. They were sitting in Ocelot’s office. Ocelot was sitting in his chair, and Kaz was sitting on the desk itself. “Even from you. Hopefully you won’t take it out on our new recruits.”

“Is there someone I can take it out on? Please, point them out to me.”

Kaz leaned over and kissed him, lips slightly parted, going for something wet and aggressive. Ocelot indulged him, before grabbing his coat and tugging; Kaz unbalanced and fell, throwing an arm around Ocelot’s shoulders to catch himself, with a slight ‘oof’. They were nearly nose to nose; Kaz gave Ocelot a half-hearted glare. 

“So, are you just flirting with me, or do you really want to be helpful?”

“I would have thought that getting into my pants would be worth it on its own, but yeah, I know what you said.”

“Are you just curious, or have you done this before?”

“Done what, exactly? Fucked a guy? You know that.”

“Played … rough.”

Kaz gave Ocelot a flat, unimpressed look. When Ocelot didn’t relent, though, or turn it into a joke, he sighed and said, “Yes and no. Alright, no, probably not. Not what you’d consider playing rough.”

“Probably not,” Ocelot agreed.

“So you’re going to chicken out on me because you’re actually a nice person? Or because you’re scared of Snake?”

Both of those things were blatant falsehoods. (He wasn’t scared of Venom). “I never said I wasn’t interested, or that I wouldn’t entertain the idea of doing anything.”

Ocelot stood up; Kaz sat up. Ocelot handed Kaz his cane. “Follow me.”

*

Mother Base was slightly understaffed, which suited Ocelot fine; regardless of Kaz’s exhibitionist tendencies he assumed it suited Kaz fine as well. Not that anyone would have overtly paid any attention to where they were going. No one was that stupid, not when it was Mother Base’s resident interrogation specialist and the guy who signed the checks.

They dropped by Ocelot’s room. Kaz recognized it from a few informal meetings with Ocelot and Snake. Kaz ransacked it with his eyes while Ocelot grabbed several things from the stack of drawers next to his cot. It was a spartan room, like near every room on Mother Base, but with a stand of guns, a half-empty rack of clothing with no coherent scheme, and a world map full of red push-pins.

Next was an interrogation room. It was one that Ocelot didn’t use often, but, still. An interrogation room. The door was heavy steel, and the inside of the door - as well as the rest of the room - was padded, the padding covered in heavy white plastic. Ocelot leaned against the wall and raised an eyebrow at Kaz as he didn’t quite come in.

“Looks better-equipped than the infirmary.”

Ocelot shrugged. “The association of my presence with the pain, instrumentation and violation of our brand of medical care is worth it on its own.”

“Can’t argue with your results. Unless you really are Cipher and have been feeding us intel the entire time in order to know exactly where we’ll be.” 

“Anyone on this base could be Cipher. You could be Cipher.” Ocelot left the wall and closed the door. It closed behind Kaz - who moved out of the way - with a near subaudible and entirely ominous click. “Maybe I should do Snake a favor and verify that.” He was now standing a bare inch away from Kaz.

Kaz was standing very, very still, but, despite his stony expression, his stare was intent.

“Anyway.” He moved to stand next to the chair in the center of the room, and next to the rolling table next to the chair. Kaz sat in the chair. “As we were discussing earlier, the old-fashioned methods of gathering information can be particularly fun. You get to know your patient, or you get to see a new side of them you hadn’t seen before.” He picked up a scalpel and toyed with it, catching the light from above. Despite the stark design of the room, the light was dim, not quite reaching into all of the corners. 

Kaz kept looking at him, and then away again. “I’m betting you have a favorite toy.”

“It depends on the patient.”

“I was going to ask if you have any sort of procedure for troublesome patients, but they’d all have to be, wouldn’t they.”

“Not all.” Ocelot sat the scalpel down and leaned over Kaz conspiratorially. “Some do have more fight than others. Not,” he said, strapping Kaz down as Kaz continued to stare at him, “that it helps them much.”

“Or inconveniences you?”

“It’s more fun that way.” He smiled, and then straddled Kaz’s lap. He removed his sunglasses and hat, set them on the rolling table. When he bent down to kiss him he half-lay down, feeling Kaz’s breath strong through his stomach. Kaz wasn’t surprised, and he didn’t warm to the kiss - no, he went from zero to sixty almost before Ocelot reclined all the way in range. Only a brief brush of lips, before he bit Ocelot’s lower lip and crushed his tongue to it. No more pretense than that, if such it was. Whatever Kaz remembered of the night after the party, he seemed to be trying to replicate it, even with lesser leverage. When Ocelot drew back and considered Kaz, his eyes were half-closed, and he was breathing hard.

“As entertaining as listening to you talk about your fetish is,” Kaz said, “we should just get on with it.”

“But we went to all this trouble.”

“Was it really?” Kaz deadpanned.

“It seemed to get the desired result.” And then, though it might just jeopardize that result, Ocelot leaned down, lay down all the way, staring into Kaz’s eyes, and asked, “Why?”

“Because talking about all of this, all of this stuff that you do for your job. Or for fun. I shouldn’t want to be within fifty feet of you -”

Ocelot snorted rudely. “You can give that impression clear as day.”

Kaz ignored that. “There’s no. Not caring about it. The pain, I mean. But you know that. And I think it might be easier to fight bits of it at a time, on my terms. Or your terms. Because if I can’t kick your ass or run away, I might as well enjoy myself. I used to be good at that.”

To spare Kaz the silence, and because his answer had been more than he’d hoped for, Ocelot said, “Current evidence says you still are,” shifted closer to Kaz in his lap, and kept a completely serious expression.

Kaz went deep red and muttered something that might have been, “Fuck.”

“That’s the idea.”

“You’re -” It was probably going to turn into an insult, but Kaz cut the words off with another expletive when Ocelot fisted his hand in his hair, turned his head to the side and bit his earlobe, before beginning to trail bruises down the side of his neck.

Ocelot was only momentarily surprised when this marking didn’t invite any protests, before he remembered the reasons he shouldn’t be.

Considering Kaz’s earlier request to get it on with, Ocelot figured that he’d appreciate the direct approach, as much as Ocelot himself would appreciate making use of the stage dressing. Some other time. He unbuckled Kaz’s coat on the way down, unbuttoning the shirt under it as well and dragging it open. He wasn’t getting impatient, Revolver Ocelot didn’t get impatient when it came to love and war (and he who could laugh in his face at that wasn’t, actually, anywhere near Mother Base, didn’t care remotely enough to risk any part of this charade by showing up), but Kaz was, had told him to “hurry up and suck my dick already” some three profanities ago. So Ocelot contented himself with one more bruising kiss into Kaz’s skin, right over his already-peaked right nipple, and if he let his teeth scrape over it on the way off, what was Kaz going to do about it? Not form a coherent threat, that was for damn sure.

Ocelot paused a moment after removing Kaz’s belt to consider using it to tie Kaz to something, or loop the belt like a collar and make him fight for the breath to swear so vociferously. Later, maybe. For now, he dropped it to the floor.

Kaz pressed his face to the side, to the headrest, when Ocelot yanked his pants down with no particular ceremony, and underwear down with only marginally more caution. He reached over to the side table where he’d already set down the lube and condoms. Kaz was recovering his characteristic lack of shame - or losing his recently discovered caution? - and watched, casual except for his deep blush and his lower lip trapped beneath his teeth.

He did flinch, though, when Ocelot held his hot, heavy (incredibly breakable, a not currently helpful but currently interested part of Ocelot’s mind pointed out) dick at the base while rolling on a condom. Probably Kaz had expected him to take his gloves off at some point; they had to feel cold, compared to the touch of a bare hand.

There was a moment of expectant silence as Ocelot slid to the foot of the chair (the lower part currently held horizontal), pressed closed lips to the damp head of Kaz’s cock, and then opened his mouth, swallowed it down to his gag reflex, inhaled through his nose, and swallowed further. Kaz swore again, this time in a mix of English and Japanese that might not have been coherent even to him. Ocelot would have smirked, if he could.

He kept his right hand where it was, moving it up and down the slick column of Kaz’s dick in time with his mouth, while his right dug into the chair. He would’ve dimmed the lights if he could, but, no matter. It didn’t take long before Kaz whimpered through his nose and stopped fighting, unconsciously as it had been, his restraints. Ocelot gave one last, hard pull with tongue and lips from the base before sitting up and wiping his mouth on the back of his left hand.

“That was. Not bad,” Kaz pronounced, sounding out of breath.

Ocelot started laughing - he caught himself a moment later, hand over his mouth. Kaz was staring at him in astonishment.

“Let me up and I’ll return the favor.” Kaz’s smug smirk couldn’t help but turn into a blissed-out smile, Coca-Cola ad perfect.

“Mm, no, I think I’ll take care of it myself.”

Kaz’s smile dropped, but his expression was intent.

Ocelot sat back in Kaz’s lap. He sighed in relief as he divested himself of his belt, undid the front of his pants and took out his own dick, which was in just as dire a state as Kaz’s had been halfway down his throat. He braced himself with his left hand on the chair, thumb resting against the side of Kaz’s throat, and licked the palm of his right, sticking the fingers of that hand two at a time deep into his mouth. Kaz shifted a bit to get comfortable, but didn’t say anything as Ocelot jerked himself off, rough and fast.

Ocelot removed his right glove with his teeth and dropped it on the mess on Kaz’s half-unbuttoned shirt.

“Second round? Sometime … later?”

Ocelot shrugged. “I haven’t run out of ideas for what to do to you.” He tucked himself back into his pants and stood up off Kaz’s lap. He was about to ask Kaz for details on the mission he was currently missing, but noted that Kaz was blinking rapidly and his breathing was starting to even off. “Tell you what. You’re not up to working right now, either. You can sleep it off here. I promise no one’ll bother you.”

That it took Kaz a minute to reply, and that he tracked Ocelot only slowly as Ocelot started unbuckling the restraints, was as good as acquiescence. “That’ll take some explaining to Snake.”

“I think we’ve been left to our own devices for the time being.”

“Poor me,” Kaz said, syrupy-coy.


End file.
